


entropy

by starr_light



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Extremely vague crime boss AU, Fast Food, George Washington is pretentious about food, M/M, possibly crack fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 06:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12524992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starr_light/pseuds/starr_light
Summary: George is hungry and Alex knows exactly where to go.





	entropy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sanderidge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanderidge/gifts).



> wrote this sometime in 2016, remembered i wrote it just now, and thought i'd post it b/c what the hell. this was inspired by a dumb tumblr shitpost involving crime bosses & romance, and ensuing conversations w/ sanderidge in which our sole purpose was to amuse ourselves.

They’d left Knox’s party a bit tipsy, but alert enough to exit the way all proper criminals and art heist organizers must do, shaking hands and saying goodbyes and lavishing profuse praise on their most gracious host (“Always a pleasure,” Knox had replied, so genuine it was almost laughable), and then half-stumbling out the door while maintaining a strictly professional distance from each other. 

As soon as the door shut George let out a long exaggerated sigh. Alex “mm”d in agreement. Knox’s property had security cameras outside, of course, but they were the black-and-white kind that didn’t catch sound, a fact that Alex exploited all too often. They were walking down the long cobblestoned driveway, still with about a foot in between the two of them, and while  _ that _ certainly wasn’t the most ideal, Alex never gave up a chance to insult Knox’s dinner parties on the very property where they occurred.

“What I don’t understand--” Alex began, a little too loudly, and George shushed him, his eyes bright with whatever adventure his unfocused brain misinterpreted the situation to be.

“What I don’t understand,” Alex said again in a near whisper,  “is why  _ Henry _ \--” he adopted a more condescending tone-- “refuses to serve anything of substance at his--” he spit the last words out-- “dinner parties.” George mumbled something in the affirmative.

“Dinner parties!” Alex exclaimed. “Dinner--”

They turned onto the sidewalk, the noise from Knox’s house now barely audible. Alex leaned into George and snuggled into the warmth of his coat.

“--parties,” he finished, starting to lose steam now that he was close to George, and content. “That implies that you will serve  _ dinner _ at your  _ party _ .”

“Well,” George said, wrapping a protective arm around Alex’s waist, “They had those crab puffs.” He was trying to be fair, because Alex sometimes got carried away with his criticisms, and Knox was an old friend and valuable business partner, despite his questionable choices in alcohol - all pretentious red wine and complicated cocktails with too much sweetness in them.

“Crab puffs,” Alex scoffed. “What’s the calorie count in them anyway? like 50?”

“Actually, they’re a bit more than that,” George corrected. “I think closer to 100,” he said very seriously. “80? 85?” He’d googled it before, damn it.

“I thought I was going to throw up, there were so many.”

George shrugged and they walked in silence after that. They got to the car, glossy black and expensive but discreet, because they were involved in organized crime and no one else needed to know. George opened up the passenger door for Alex, helped him in, and Alex smiled despite his best efforts to hide any kind of external representation of the warm fuzzy feeling in that place where his heart was supposed to be. 

“Such a gentleman,” he teased George, to make up for his slip-up. George slammed the door in his face in response and Alex laughed.

***

They had been driving for a while - in silence - when George’s stomach growled. He shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Sorry,” he said, casting an apologetic glance towards Alex, who just looked concerned. 

“I thought you had crab puffs,” Alex said, fixing him with an accusing glare, and George had to fight the urge to laugh at the absurd ways through which his boyfriend expressed his love. Love, he thought to himself, kind of lightheaded. Love!

“I did,” said George, reassuringly, as his stomach growled again. He winced. 

“You need to eat,” Alex said, stubbornness creeping into his words. George got ready to protest - he had stuff at home, they could go home, he’d eat and Alex could spend the night, traffic might get worse if they stopped now -

“McDonald’s!” Alex exclaimed quite suddenly, and George saw two bright yellow arches looming up ahead. He squinted at them.

“McDonald’s,” Alex repeated. “George, we have to go. They have  _ all _ the calories.”

“Alex, I don’t know--” George felt the urge to scratch his head. It was a nervous habit. He forced himself to keep his hands on the wheel, for safety. Ten and two, he reminded himself. Ten pm. Two am. Just like they taught at driving school. He looked down, checked the position of his hands, and frowned a bit before moving his right one down just a tad.

“Calories, George. Calories!” Alex was saying.

“I’ve never been--” George tried.

“All the more reason to go!”

“I don’t--” George saw a yellow light up ahead, and debated whether to run it or not.

“Oh, George,” Alex said. “Sometimes I forget you’re pretentious about food.” 

“I’m not--” Probably best to slow down, George mused. He hit the brakes gently.

“Shh,” Alex interrupted, and leaned over the console to kiss George on the lips. George was glad he’d decided to stop, because if he’d been driving he probably would have crashed the car right then. “We’re going,” Alex said decisively.

“You don’t get to make all the--” Green light. George pressed the gas pedal.

“We’re going.” And so George drove towards the two glowing arches.

***

They opted for drive-thru once they arrived. “Did you know,” Alex said, his face a bit too close to George’s, “that drive-thru is actually quicker than going inside? I read it in  _ Reader’s Digest _ .”

George snorted, because sober Alex would have never admitted to reading  _ Reader’s Digest _ .

“It’s true!” Alex said, and George patted his knee, a bit awkwardly. Alex sank down in the passenger seat and sighed.

Then he sat up, perfect posture and all that, and leaned in very close to George again.  _ Your depth perception is remarkable _ , George wanted to comment, but Alex had started talking--

“Alright, George. This is the game plan. You hear me? Game plan. You are going to drive us to that window as fast as you possibly can, and I am going to order what you will think is the best food you’ve ever tasted. Then we will eat it.”

George nodded, because it seemed logical enough. He refrained from saying that he was already driving as fast as he possibly could, that there were cars in front of them, and did Alex want them to get into a car accident, or what? Some voice in the back of his mind said that a car accident would somehow involve the police and therefore be a very, very bad idea. He craned his neck out the window, trying to take a look at the menu, blown up on some giant backlit screen.

Then a static-y voice came out from nowhere, and George would have jumped up in his seat in surprise, if his response time hadn’t become so impaired. “Hi, good evening; welcome to McDonald’s; may I take your order?”

In a matter of seconds Alex had climbed over the counsel and draped himself over George’s lap. His head stuck out the window. George had been ready to order, but-- Well. This worked too.

“Hi,” Alex said loudly into the giant speaker. “We’d like a large drink. Sprite. Two straws, please.”

“Why don’t we just get two?” George whispered. 

“It's cheaper this way,” Alex whispered back. He stuck his head out of the window and continued ordering. 

***

George must have dozed off because he woke up to Alex nudging him, light punches on the side of his arm. “Your wallet,” Alex said, eyeing his pocket. “I need it.”

George made a face at Alex but got the wallet out anyway. 

He heard Alex say “Do you guys have change for a $100?” and then Alex was back in the car, motioning for George to move forward.

***

They were stuck at a red light again. Alex was next to him, inspecting the paper bag they’d gotten at the last station of the drive thru. George tried not to let the smell of fried food get to him. The sprite was stuck in that spot between them where drinks were supposed to be stuck and Alex would take it out every so often, take a sip, and put it back. George watched him do it again. Damn, this red light was long. 

Alex was looking at him now. George noticed; his peripheral vision wasn’t terrible. 

“Kiss me,” Alex said. George thought about it, was going to refuse - the red light had to turn green  _ eventually _ \- but he ended up complying. Then he pulled away.

“Your mouth tastes like sprite,” he told Alex. Alex kissed him another time. 

“Alex, you’re  _ fizzy _ ,” George reiterated, mid-kiss, because it was as if Alex hadn't heard him the first time. Alex leaned back, fake-exasperated. 

“It’s just carbon dioxide, George. Plants use carbon dioxide to photosynthesize--”

“Someone paid attention in chemistry class,” George interrupted, affectionate and thinking that he would never interrupt a kiss again because it would just lead to lecture. 

“Biology,” Alex corrected, but George wasn't listening. “Photosynthesis is bio--”

“Wait,” George interrupted. 

“Uh huh?”

“Chemistry,” he said. 

Alex stared at him, blankly, while George tried to remember what he was going to say. and then it came to him.

“I think  _ we  _ have chemistry,” he clarified, and it came out kind of goofy but Alex leaned up to kiss him, all bubbly and artificial lemon-lime. He wrapped a cold, cold hand around the back of George’s neck.

“Mm,” George said, very eloquently, as they broke away from each other. 

“I hate you, you know. Half-drunk you is even worse than real you.”

“But that’s why you love me,” he said, the alcohol running through his blood making him perhaps a little too arrogant.

“That’s why I love you,” Alex repeated, sincere.

Then the guy in the car behind them honked, three successive, horribly loud, impatient sounds. Alex flipped him off while George composed himself. Ten and two. He checked his hands, moved the right one down a little--god, why was it  _ always _ the right? He drove them home.

 


End file.
